The Lines We Draw
by Rebel-with-a-clue
Summary: Sherlock always wears long sleeves and coats. John never questioned why, until a case makes him take off his coat and roll up his sleeves. All to help a girl who is going through the same problems Sherlock once did. Warning: Mentions of self harm. Don't read if it triggers, but there is a happy ending. Maybe a second chapter if enough people want it.


The case was only a three at most, but John was insisting. He had said something along the lines of not patching up any more bullet holes in the wall and not buying groceries anymore unless he took the case.

Sherlock was bored, so he thought he might as well take Lestrade's phone call. After a ten minute cab ride, they arrived at a construction zone on the edge of London. They were let through the yellow tape with minimal harassment and began examining the body while Lestrade filled them in.

"Body was discovered by Alicia Mitchell, that girl over there." Lestrade informed John, but knew Sherlock was listening. He pointed to a girl, about sixteen, talking to an officer. "She was walking home from school when she found the body."

"Right, so anything interesting, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Killed within the last twelve hours, bullet to the chest. Body was dropped here, but killed somewhere else. My guess would be an alley, maybe a mugging gone wrong." Sherlock said. "This man was an office worker, accountant. Wallet and phone are missing. Check reports for gunshots in shady areas, likely around brothels. That should narrow down the search."

"Why brothels?" John asked, almost reluctantly.

"This man has a pale patch of skin where a ring, likely a wedding ring, usually resides. He isn't wearing it now, and the tan lines show that he removed it often. He was most likely spending the night with a prostitute, without his wife's knowledge of course, and was leaving when he was shot." Sherlock explained. "John, your turn."

Sherlock stood back as John bent down to examine the body, unnecessary really, but Sherlock wanted John to feel important.

"You know I was surprised you actually took this case," Lestrade mentioned to Sherlock while John examined the body.

"I insisted. He was getting insufferable." John called over from the body.

Lestrade turned to John while Sherlock tuned them out. He was half listening to the officer questioning the girl while he analyzed the evidence. Then one sentence caught his attention.

"And where did those cuts on your arm coming from?" the officers questioned the girl. Sherlock turned immediately to the girl, now placing his full attention on her.

"Um, they must have happened when I found the body. I stumbled back on the gravel," Alicia said.

Liar.

"Alright, I think that should be all. Thank you." The officer said. The girl nodded and turned to go, but Sherlock stopped her.

"If you don't mind, I would like to ask her a few questions." Sherlock told the officer. The officer nodded, and Alicia looked at him, annoyed.

"What? I already answered all of the police's questions questions." She told him.

"I am not the police, I'm a consulting detective. The police call me in when they can't solve cases, which is most of the time. " Sherlock said.

Lestrade caught the last bit and shot a glare at Sherlock then turned back to John.

"Okay, what do you want? Hurry up, I want to go home." Alicia said impatiently.

"Nope. That's the second lie you told since I started listening," Sherlock commented. Lestrade heard and turned his full attention on Sherlock. Alicia just looked uncomfortable now.

"How do you know?" she asked defiantly.

"Because I do. Now let me see those cuts on your arms," Sherlock said bluntly. The girl seemed to curl in on herself. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest in an attempt to hide the marks on her arms. But it was no use; Sherlock had seen and Alicia knew it.

He held his hand out, and the girl unfurled her arm and placed it in his hand. He moved the sleeve of her uniform up slightly, just enough to see rows of angry red marks covering her wrists. The girl drew her hand back quickly and held her arm to her chest, an ashamed expression covering her face.

"You really shouldn't do that," Sherlock told her gently. "It doesn't help at all."

"Shut up. You don't know anything." Alicia bit back. "And anyways, I didn't do it myself, I got it from falling down that gravel when I found the body."

"Nope, again with the lies." Sherlock said bluntly.

"How would you know?" she retorted.

"You skirt isn't dirty from any fall, and those cuts are too neat and precise." Sherlock told her, and he knelt down in front of her. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but cutting yourself isn't the answer to anything. It won't help. Trust me."

"You don't anything about my life." Alicia retorted.

"I know you have one older brother who gets perfect grades and a younger sister who can do no wrong in your parents' eyes. Your mother is a primary school teacher, and your father works in the business world. You have one dog, black lab, and a tabby cat. You are in the science club; favorite subject would probably be biology. I would say I know enough about your life." Sherlock said quietly. "And you have been cutting yourself for about seven months."

Alicia stood silently in front of him. He had been right, of course. John had finished examining the body and was standing next to Lestrade now, pretending not to listen but trying to hear exactly what Sherlock was saying to the girl.

"Okay, but what's it to you?" Alicia told him.

"Let me give you some advice." Sherlock said to her. He removed his coat and placed it on the ground, then rolled up his sleeves. Lestrade and John craned their necks to see, and what they saw shocked them. Littering Sherlock's arms were many different scars, all neat and straight. They couldn't hold back their own gasps. Neither could Alicia.

"Exactly. I was just like you, well, a few differences, but the same general idea." Sherlock told her. "One night, it got really bad. My brother found me passed out in a pool of my own blood. He rushed me to the hospital and I nearly didn't make it. When I woke up about a week later, my family was a mess of tears, especially my brother. Trust me, it's not easy to make my brother cry. Seeing my family, people who really cared about me, so broken up struck a nerve. It took a long time, but eventually I healed, and I learned it really could get better. Now, I have a wonderful friend, a few tolerable people in my life, and I couldn't be happier. My advice to you is that it really does get better. You can get through this part of your life."

Alicia was silent. She was staring at the ground.

"Does it really get better?" She asked. "It feels like it never will."

"It really does." Sherlock told her quietly. He pulled his sleeves down again, and put his coat back on. He dug in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a card.

"Here is my cell phone and address. Come over or call me, any time. If you feel like cutting again, call me. If things get too much for you, you are more than welcome to come over. I work on a lot of different experiments and could use some competent help. My flat mate is rather hopeless at science." Sherlock told her.

Alicia took the card and slipped it into her uniform pocket. She was about to walk away when she turned back and gave Sherlock a hug. He was surprised for a moment, and then wrapped his own arms around the girl.

"Thank you." Alicia whispered.

"Any time." Sherlock whispered back. She pulled away and when she turned to walk down the street, and he could see the hint of a smile on her face.

Sherlock turned back to Lestrade and John, who both had their mouths hanging open in shock.

"Close your mouths. You'll catch Anderson's stupidity." Sherlock said, snapping back to his usual self. Their mouths snapped shut, and Sherlock went back to rattling off facts about the murder.

A few days later, on Saturday, Sherlock was doing his experiments in his kitchen and John was reading the newspaper, just like normal, when the doorbell rang.

"John." Sherlock said. John just sighed and got up to get it. When he opened the door, he was only half surprised to see Alicia, standing there in jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Oh, Alicia. Hi, how are you?" John said politely. The girl looked nervous, she was shifting on the doorstep.

"Sorry, this was a bad idea. He probably didn't mean what he said, I should just go." Alicia muttered. She turned and began to walk away when Sherlock's voice rang out behind John.

"Alicia, come back here. I could use your help with something." Sherlock had appeared behind John, without him knowing of course.

The girl stopped and turned back. She still looked nervous.

"Come on. I did mean what I said. Come in, I'll have Mrs. Hudson make us some tea and you can help me run some tests on a hand." Sherlock told her.

Alicia started walking back to 221B and stood on the doorstep. Sherlock and John had stepped back to let her in, but she still hesitated on the step.

"You really did mean it?" She asked, still unsure of if she should go into the flat or not.

"Of course. Come along, then." Sherlock said, as he turned back into 221B and went up the stairs. Alicia took a step in, then followed closely behind.

John smiled as he shut the door.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you mind making us some tea? We have a guest." John shouted to the old woman.

"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson shouted back, but John heard her bustle around the kitchen to get everything ready for tea.

John went upstairs and entered the living room to resume reading his newspaper. He heard Alicia's gasps as she discovered that Sherlock really did have a severed human hand.

The shock didn't last long, soon enough the two were cutting it open to test how the muscles reacted to different substances.

Mrs. Hudson brought up the tea a few minutes later, fussed over Sherlock and Alicia, and came in to have a cup with John.

John watched the two concentrate on the hand on the table, a smile on his face.

Sherlock Holmes was a great man, and with this, he might have just become a good one.


End file.
